


A Secret Love of Baking

by justkisa



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 21:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8176423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkisa/pseuds/justkisa
Summary: Kevin bakes David and Sergio a cake (and yes this is just as fluffy and ridiculous as that sounds).





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Possibly Kevin de Bruyne [enjoys baking cakes and bringing them in for his teammates to enjoy](http://joeharts.tumblr.com/post/131024624352). (Probably he doesn't but imagine, IMAGINE.)
> 
> 2) This was written awhile back (last season to be precise back when Aguero and Silva were both injured) and I thought I had posted it here but I guess I didn't? idk

Kevin isn’t sure what the right flavor is for a _being injured sucks, hope you get well soon_ cake but he ends up going with chocolate. Because it’s _chocolate_ and who doesn’t like chocolate?

Then he worries the whole time he’s mixing the cake that, maybe, Silva or Agüero or both are part of that weird group of people that _don’t_ like chocolate for whatever reason. But, by then, it’s really too late. The cake, for better or worse, is chocolate.

Michele comes home while he’s frosting the cake. She wraps her arms around his waist, hooks her chin over his shoulder and says, “Oooh, cake. How soon can we eat it?”

Kevin carefully smooths icing along the side of the cake and says, “Sorry. It’s not for us.”

“ _Kevin_ ,” Michele says, leaning into his back. His hand slips a little and he gets frosting on his fingers. “I want cake,” Michele says, “The baby wants cake.”

Kevin pauses his frosting for a moment. He’s pretty sure that the baby is still too small to want _anything_ let alone cake. But he still pretty much already wants to give him anything he wants. “Uh,” he says, “I’ll make another tomorrow, okay? For you and the baby.” If his voice wobbles a little when he says baby, it’s only because he’s still getting used to saying it, is still in awe of the idea of a baby, _his baby_.

Michele gives him a squeeze. “Okay,” she says, “Fair enough. But it has to be chocolate.”

“Sure,” Kevin says. He waits a minute to see if she’s going to move but she doesn’t seem inclined to so he goes back to frosting.

“So,” Michele says, as Kevin turns the cake so he can frost the back, “Who’s this cake for?”

“Uh,” Kevin says, because this whole, _sorry you’re injured_ cake business had seemed like a great idea in his head but now that he has to say it out loud it seems kind of ridiculous, “Well…”

“C’mon,” Michele says, poking him in the stomach, “Who?”

“Uh, Silva and Agüero.”

Michele laughs. “Aw, Kevin, is this _sucks to be you, sorry you got injured_ cake?”

Kevin scoops up more frosting with his spatula. “Uh, maybe.” It’d seemed like such a good idea when he’d started. Now he’s kind of regretting the whole enterprise.

Michele kisses his cheek. “That’s sweet,” she says, “I’m sure they’ll like it.”

“Uh, yeah,” Kevin says and, instead of thinking about Silva’s and Agüero’s probable reactions to their brand new teammate baking them a cake, he focuses as hard as he can on getting his frosting exactly right.

Michele gives him a squeeze. “I’m going to get changed,” she says, letting go of him.

“Uh-huh,” Kevin says, distractedly, “Okay.”

“Don’t forget about my cake,” Michele says , as she leaves the kitchen, “Chocolate, okay?”

Kevin nods. “Mmm’hmm,” he says, and carefully smooths the last bit of frosting along the side of the cake.

He takes a step back to look at the cake. It looks nice. Which is good. Whatever else happens at least the cake came out well.

***

Kevin feels weird carrying a box full of cake through the training center. The only good thing is that no one can see what’s in the box. Some people give the box a strange look. But only one person - Sharon - asks him what’s in the box. He shrugs and tries (and fails) not to blush. “Uh, just some things.”

She narrows her eyes, like she doesn’t quite believe him, but she doesn’t say anything except, “All right.”

When he gets to the changing room, he settles the box carefully in his locker. He’s not sure that his locker is the best place for a cake but trying to find a refrigerated spot to store it will just lead to a lot of questions he doesn’t want to answer. So his locker it is.

After training he changes, collects his things, then he carefully picks up the box. It seems to have come through training okay. He resists the urge to open the box and check on the cake. Flashing cake in the changing room, which is still filled with his chattering, way too curious, teammates, is probably a very bad idea.

He asks around a bit to see if anyone knows where he can find Silva and Agüero but all he gets are a lot of shrugs and _I dunno, somewhere arounds_. By the time he gets to Vinnie, he’s getting a bit desperate. Vinnie looks him up and down. “I know where they are,” he says but he doesn’t actually say _where they are_.

“Well?” Kevin says, trying not to sound desperately impatient.

Vinnie’s smile suggests he hasn’t quite succeeded. “I’ll tell you,” Vinnie says, “If,” he reaches out and taps the top of the cake box, “you tell me what’s in the box.”

Kevin seriously considers just turning around, going home, eating the cake himself, and forgetting, well, everything about this whole thing. Instead, he says, quietly, so as not to attract the attention of any of his other teammates, “It’s cake.”

Vinnie raises his eyebrows. “Cake?’ he says.

Kevin nods.

Vinnie smiles a little. “For David and Sergio?” 

Kevin hesitates then nods again.

Vinnie smiles wider. “You bought them cake?”

“I, uh, I made it,” Kevin says and Vinnie throws back his head and laughs and laughs. People turn around and stare. Kevin can feel himself flushing. He kicks Vinnie’s foot. “Do you know where they are or not?”

Vinnie doesn’t answer right away. He’s busy laughing. When he finally answers, he’s still laughing, his words coming out in quick, breathless bursts, “Nah,” he says, “Not really. Probably somewhere up with the physios or something.”

Kevin stares at him. “I hate you.” Vinnie just starts laughing again.

Kevin turns on his heel and walks away. He’ll figure this out on his own. How hard could it be to find Silva and Agüero, anyway?

“Hey, Kevin,” Vinnie calls after him, “How come you’ve never made me cake?”

Kevin doesn’t even bother to turn around. “Because I hate you,” he calls back. The sound of Vinnie’s laughter follows him down the hall.

***

It turns out finding Silva and Agüero is a lot harder than he’d though it would be. He starts out in what he’s pretty sure is the right direction but then he gets kind of lost. He’s just not used to all the turns and twists in the corridors yet. He’s about to give up and attempt to go back the way he came when he hears very familiar sounding laughter - Agüero’s laughter.

He follows the sound down the hall and around the corner. And there’s Agüero and, because maybe his luck is finally turning, Silva as well. There are some other people milling around but he’s sure it’s Silva making Agüero laugh.

They both smile when he comes up to them. Then there are hugs and hellos and commiserations (from Kevin). Then there’s a bit of awkward standing around staring at each other while Kevin tries to figure out how to introduce cake into their conversation.

He ends up shoving the box at Agüero and saying, “Uh, I, um, I brought you guys something.”

Silva gives him look somewhere between bewildered and bemused but Agüero grabs the box and starts opening it before Kevin can offer any further explanations.

“Oooh, cake,” Agüero says, once he gets the box open. He starts to stick his fingers right into the cake but Silva reaches over and smacks his hand. Agüero pouts but he slides his fingers out of the box.

“You, ah,” Silva says, “You did not have to buy cake.” Agüero looks like he very much disagrees but he doesn’t say anything.

“I, uh,” Kevin says and resists the urge to shuffle his feet and look at the floor, “I made it.” It comes out sounding more like a question than a statement.

Agüero’s eyes go very wide. “You made it?” he says in a tone very close to awe. He starts creeping his fingers back into the box.

“Really?” Silva says and his tone is closer to incredulity than awe.

Kevin nods. “Uh, yeah.”

Silva smiles a little. “That is—“ Whatever Silva thinks it is, remains a mystery because he stops and reaches over to smack Agüero’s hand again. He’d almost had his fingers in the frosting.

Agüero makes an affronted, whining sound. “Aww,” he says, “David, come on, cake.”

“You, uh,” Kevin says, “You can try it. I, uh, I don’t mind.”

Agüero smiles, smug and victorious, and sticks his fingers right into the top of the cake. Silva rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds extremely uncomplimentary in Spanish. Agüero just smiles wider and shoves his cake and frosting covered fingers in his mouth.

“Is very good,” Agüero says. Or, at least, Kevin thinks that’s what he said. He’s still chewing and his words come out all muffled. He offers Kevin a broad, frosting smeared grin.

“Thanks,” Kevin says, “I, uh, I’m glad you like it.”

Agüero nods vigorously. “I do. Very much.” He pushes his cake and frosting covered fingers in the direction of Silva’s face. “David. David. Try this.”

Silva wrinkles his nose and prods Agüero’s fingers away from his face. Agüero shrugs and starts licking frosting and bits of cake off his fingers.

“Ah,” Kevin says, “You, um, you should try it too. I, uh, I did make it for both of you.”

Silva looks at Kevin for a moment, then he looks at the cake, then back at Kevin. He smiles a little and bobs his head in a brief nod. “Okay,” he says. He reaches slowly into the box, like he’s afraid the cake is going to bite him, and picks off a corner of cake. He pops the bit of cake into his mouth and starts chewing. Somehow he accomplishes all of this without getting frosting on his face, or, it seems on his fingers, which Kevin thinks should really be impossible.

When he’s done chewing, he gives Kevin a small, pleased smile. “Sergio is right. Very good.” And it’d been pretty great getting that happy, frosting-smeared grin from Agüero but this is just as good. There’s something about Silva’s smile (and his approval) that makes him feel warm and pleased inside.

“Thanks,” he says and he can feel his face flush and he ducks his head a little.

Agüero holds out the box. “You want some?” 

Kevin shakes his head. “No. No, it’s all right. It’s for you, uh, and Silva. To, ah, to take home or whatever.”

Silva leans into Agüero’s shoulder. “You take it. Share with Benji.”

Agüero smiles and wraps his arm around Silva’s shoulders. “Come over, ah? We will all have cake.” Silva glances at Agüero then he smiles a little and nods. Agüero grins. His mouth is still smeared with frosting. “Good. So, we will go now?” Silva nods again. Agüero gives his shoulders a squeeze then he hands him the box of cake and steps forward toward Kevin.

He leans in and gives Kevin a short, hard hug. “Thank you so much,” he says, planting a quick, kind of disgustingly sticky kiss on Kevin’s cheek, “For the cake.” When he steps back, Silva starts to laugh.

“What?” Kevin and Agüero say at the same time.

Silva smiles. “You, ah, there is frosting—“ He touches his fingertips to his own cheek.

Kevin wrinkles his nose and reaches up to scrub his fingers along his cheek. “Did I get it?”

Silva shakes his head. “No, ah, it is…” He steps forward. He licks his thumb then leans up and rubs it along Kevin’s cheekbone. He drops back onto his heels. “There,” he says. He licks the frosting off his thumb. “All gone.”

“Uh,” Kevin says, because, okay, that was, he’s not sure what that was, “Yeah. Thanks.”

And then there is a lot of awkward standing around and staring at each other.

“So,” Kevin says finally, “I, uh, I just, I should get going.”

Silva smiles and nods and then he leans in to give Kevin a brief hug, which Kevin only remembers to return at the very last second. “Thank you,” Silva says, “For the cake.”

“Uh, you’re welcome,” Kevin manages. “I’ll, uh, see you then?”

Silva nods. Agüero gives him an enthusiastic wave and says, “Hopefully soon, ah?”

“Yeah,” Kevin says, offering an awkward wave of his own, “Sure soon.” Then he turns and tries to flee while not making it obvious that he’s fleeing. Because he’s pretty sure that all went well but it also got a little weird. And he’s not sure what to do about that.

But at least they seemed to like the cake.

***

When Kevin gets home, Michele is curled up on the sofa doing something on her tablet. The TV is on but the sound is turned down to just a low hum. “Hey,” he says, stopping behind the back of the coach and lightly tugging on the strand of hair which has escaped from her messy bun, “I’m home.”

She leans her head back onto the couch so she looking straight up at him. “Hi,” she says, with a smile.

He leans down to give her a quick kiss.

“So,” she says, once he’s straightened up, “Did they like the cake?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, “Um, I think so. Yeah.”

She laughs a little. “You have such a crush. It’s cute.”

“I,” he says, “What? No.” Because he _doesn’t_.

She rolls her eyes and laughs some more. “Not that kind of crush. Just—“ She straightens up and scoots around to face him. “ _Oh god, you’re so awesome and your football is so awesome, please like me._ That kind of crush.”

Kevin opens his mouth. Closes it again. “Uh,” he says, “…no.”

She folds her hands carefully on top of the couch and says very seriously, “You made them cake,” like this supports her ridiculous argument.

“I make lots of people cake,” he says weakly.

She lifts her eyebrows. “Not teammates,” she says.

She’s right. And after today he’s pretty sure he’s never making a teammate cake again as long as he lives. “That doesn’t mean, you know,” he says and waves his hand in her direction instead of repeating her argument. Because it is _ridiculous_.

“It does,” she says, “Like it really, really does. You made them cake because you have a total man-crush on them and their football and you want them to like you.”

Lacking a rational counter-argument, he says, “Well, I was going to make _you_ cake too but now…”

“Oh no,” she says, “You promised me cake, sweetie, so there had better be cake.” Then she sighs and says, “But I guess I’ll stop talking about, you know, your man-crush,” like she’s doing him a huge favor.

“I don’t have—“

She cuts him off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She points toward the kitchen. “Cake, go.”

So he goes because making cake has got to be better then talking about this.

“Chocolate,” she calls after him, “Right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says.

The cake comes out pretty good. They kind of end up eating it for dinner. But, thankfully, there is no mention of crushes, or teammates, or anything like that. There is just cake.


End file.
